


At the End of Her Rope

by Vreliskriri



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: At the End of Our Hope- also known as that time Artoirel tried to get the WoL killed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vreliskriri/pseuds/Vreliskriri
Summary: This little snippet I wrote for the FFXIVwrite 2019 prompt #3: Lost.
Kudos: 4





	At the End of Her Rope

It took a special sort of madness to press on alone without as much as a feather of the heretics to be found. Slowing down, Rine adjusted the scarf that had been sliding over her eyes and peered through the blizzard. There. Up past the cliffs where she’d come from, a faint orange glow too big to be the sun. The beacon of Falcon’s Nest. Were the road to disappear under the snow, she could just turn back and follow the light to Lord Artoirel. 

They had all been shivering by then, the wounded knight and him and her, but Rine had felt an additional chill down her spine as they parted and the feeling grew stronger with every step. 

There had been a subtle shift in his voice, an attempt at a smile. 

“Thank you, Rine,” he’d said. 

Rine. Not Mistress Dreamcatcher. 

At that moment, some little part of her had wanted to accept the sudden warmth, to take his words as they were spoken and know Lord Artoirel was trying to make amends for his coldness. Rine could trust him over her own senses, no? _Hells_ no, and by now even that softer, gentler little part of her wanted to turn back and tell his Lordship how much of a difference it made to her whether it pained him to be such a legitimate arse. His thank you had been a farewell, his orders a death sentence. Well, most of them. In his haste to be rid of her, he’d spouted some nonsense as well. 

“‘Leave footprints for you to follow?’ Gladly, when I’m done taking a nap in this cozy-looking white fluff that piles up by the yalms with every breath,” Rine murmured into the scarf. It was a really nice scarf, and it kept her face warm, even if a bit damp now that she’d been breathing against it for an odd two hours. The rest of her was clad in new winter robes, heavy layers of gray fabric that, according to Haurchefant, was called rainbow cloth. Rine had asked him why, and he had promised to show her when she got back. 

When, not if. 

The wind showed no signs of dying down and snowflakes kept getting into Rine’s eyes, but she tried not to blink. Whenever she did, her eyelids would feel as though they were freezing shut. She forced them open. The gentle blue glow of the beacon still soundly in sight, everything was going to be alright. She’d just have to stick to the course long as she could and turn back when she couldn’t. 

Come to think of it, the beacon wasn’t supposed to glow blue or rock back and forth, and she was supposed to be walking away from it, not towards it. Rine spun around and squinted. How many beacons were there, again? The girl rubbed her eyes, looked again and let out a relieved sigh as the blue lights drew closer, encircling her. Ice bombs… Just a bevy of ice bombs. And there she’d been wondering if the cold had begun to blur her senses. 

A few explosions later the Warrior of Light staggered into the farmhouse wall. The thud was followed by shouting and other commotion inside. Splendid! She’d found the heretics. 


End file.
